


She Came In Through The Bathroom Window

by nwspaprtaxis



Category: Across the Universe (2007)
Genre: Angst, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hugs, Hurt Prudence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Overprotective, Protective Jude Feeny, Protective Max Carrigan, Protective Siblings, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-23 09:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nwspaprtaxis/pseuds/nwspaprtaxis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He only knows that she had appeared mysteriously in the apartment, crawling through their bathroom window, dripping wet and covered in bruises....</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Came In Through The Bathroom Window

**Author's Note:**

> _**A/N:**_ A special shout-out goes to **CarsAndTelephones** for beta-ing this and making sure my Max and Pru were in their respective characters. And to **LaylaBinx** for looking at early drafts. As a note, this fic is separate from my post-movie series and is not part of that universe. Instead, it is a missing expansion scene of sorts, set In-Movie, taking place after the scene in which a battered Prudence crawls through the bathroom window and before the scene in which Lucy decides to move to New York to be with Max before he is shipped off to Vietnam. Additionally, I wanted to explore the throwaway line of _"But I don't sleep with them anymore..."_
> 
>  _ **Disclaimer:**_ Do not own. Am not making a profit. I'm just simply having fun with their psyches and returning them slightly more battered to Julie Taymor and Co. and all that Yada Yada. Title comes from the song of the same name, which is owned by the Beatles and Apple Records and which I have no hope of procuring the rights to.

Max groans, flinging an arm over his eyes as he flops onto his back. In the bed shoved against the opposite wall, Jude snores softly, contentedly, _with damn dreams of sugarplums dancing in his head,_ the blond thinks enviously of the elusive sleep. Removing his arm, he stares up at the shadowy ceiling, listening to the lashing rain against the window, wide awake and unable to sleep, the springs of the mattress digging into his back. It's still the middle of the night. Or at least ridiculously early in the morning.

He'd been trying to sleep for the better part of the night, but thoughts of the new girl kept intruding. He doesn't know her name or where she had come from. That didn't matter. He only knows that she had appeared mysteriously in the apartment, crawling through their bathroom window, dripping wet and covered in bruises.

Exhaling sharply, he rises from the mattress on the floor, giving up on sleep as a bad job, and pulls on his ratty, navy-blue terrycloth robe over his boxers, not bothering to tie the robe closed. Scrubbing at his dry eyes with the palm of one hand, he stumbles out of the bedroom into the Whatever Room. Perhaps there was something in the kitchen that would help him sleep…

He never makes it to the kitchen.

She is curled up on the overstuffed chair, hands clutching the thin quilt Sadie must've given her against her chest. Her long hair conceals her face and, in the shadowy darkness, Max can see some of the strands stirring as she breathes in her sleep.

 _She looks like a lost, runty, unwanted kitten that's been abandoned on the curb_ , Max thinks as he takes a step towards the girl.

Sleeping, she looks like a little kid, maybe twelve or thirteen, but he remembers her as he had seen her earlier, and knows that she isn't one. But it doesn't mean she's grown up either. Cursing his instinct as a brother to look out for any vulnerable girl at least three years younger than he, Max reaches out and strokes back her hair back from her face with a feather-light touch.

Her black hair is dry, now, soft and silky, slippery almost. She shifts and shivers slightly. He notices for the first time that she is still wearing the same dark-colored blouse he had seen her in earlier. He inhales quietly and shakes her shoulder. The shirt is still damp.

The effect is electric. The girl's eyes fly open and she takes one look at him, terror emanating from her in sickening waves. She stares at him for another heartbeat and throws a kick at his head, which he easily dodges, and somersaults over the back of the chair, streaking towards the opposite corner of the room. She cowers against the wall, dark brown eyes wide with fear and apprehension. "Who are you?" Her voice wavers.

Max instinctively throws his hands up in the universal signal for surrender, palms facing outwards, revealing that he has nothing, that he intends no harm, and moves around the chair so she can see him more clearly. "I'm Max," he answers her, keeping his voice slow, measured, not wanting to push her over the edge. She is much too close to it. He crouches so he is at eye level with her, but doesn't move closer or lower his arms. There is still a half a room between them. "My name's Maxwell Carrigan, but I go by Max. I live here, too. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I'm not going to hurt you. I promise. I'm not going to move. I'll stay right here. But I'm going to have to turn on the light, okay?" He lowers his arms slowly, his left hand feeling for the table lamp. He clicks it on.

The petite Asian girl says nothing and stares at him, blinking in the light and shuddering all over like an abused puppy bracing itself for another kick. She doesn't look a day older than sixteen. _Beyond that would be pushing it_. Max swallows. Lucy's eighteen, bordering on nineteen, and he can't imagine his golden, innocent sister ever being in a position like this, so scared and vulnerable and having to blindly trust perfect strangers.

"What's your name?" he asks her, keeping his voice quiet and nonthreatening, treading carefully. At this point, he's not even asking for her trust. He just wants her to stop shaking and for the fear to go away. Although he supposes that the two might be the same thing to the girl.

"Prudence," she blurts immediately. She presses her lips tightly closed, coloring slightly. She hadn't intended it to slip out so quickly.

"Prudence," Max repeats. "Mind if I call you Pru?"

Prudence vehemently shakes her head side to side, hugging her knees so tightly her elbows almost turn white. "No."

"Where're you from?"

"Nowhere."

"Me too! So there's two of us!" Max grins for a second, instanteously dropping it when it is not returned, growing serious. He sits cross-legged on the floor, making himself more comfortable. "There's more of us from there than you'd think. What part of Nowhere are you from? It's a large place. Much larger than you'd dream of it being," he drawls, deliberately botching a southern accent.

The tiniest of smiles quirks at his words. "Ohio."

"Ah, that's a nice area. I'm from the Princeton University section. Quite stuffy and pompous, if you ask me. Didn't like it at all," Max says, this time with a fake British accent, purposely imitating Jude badly, drawing another small smile from the girl. "Full of professors with sticks up their arses and people who thought they knew everything and everyone trying to get somewhere and worrying about what they should do." The accent fades as bitterness creeps into his voice. The conversation with his parents at Thanksgiving still rankles with him, crawling beneath his skin, even though it was months ago. He forces cheer into his voice, "So I dropped out and came here instead…" He almost tells her that it had been nothing short of fantastic to be away from all the pressures of school and home, to be his own person and do whatever he wanted, but the purple and black bruises on her face makes him pause.

"I didn't like Ohio much either. So I came here, to New York, I mean, hoping it'd be better. I was wrong," Prudence's voice is low, barely over a whisper, heavy with pain. It is the most he had ever heard her say at one time.

"You mean because of…" Max motions quickly to the right side of his face.

Prudence nods, shaking her long, dark hair over her face, not meeting his eyes. "He was a Mistake." He does not miss the capital letter in her pronunciation.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he repeats, at a loss for words, but feeling like he should say something. "I won't touch you, if that's what you want. I just want to help."

"Why are you being so nice?" her question catches him off guard.

"Wh—? B-because no one should be hurt, treated the way you were. Because everyone should be treated with kindness. With respect and equality," he answers her dumbly, matter-of-factly, as though it should be obvious. _Treat others as you would like to be treated_. "Mostly, though, because you remind me of someone I know. Someone who I never want to see hurt."

Prudence chokes back a sob, wiping her hand across her cheek, wincing as it came in contact with the contusion.

"You should get that cleaned up," Max comments mildly, switching the topic.

Prudence stares out at him through her hair, her lower lip trembling with cold.

 _God, the girl needs to get out of those clothes_ , Max thinks. "If you'll let me, I'll help you."

"You mean…" Prudence whispers hoarsely, "this is not an act? That you're not pretending? That you really would wait for my permission?"

"Wha—? Yes! My God, girl, what the hell were you thinking? That I was just—" Max stammers, completely floored by the seriousness of the girl's expression. _Good God, what kind of life did she have?_ "Shit, Pru. I was being literal. I didn't want… I didn't mean… Shit."

"Being nice was how The Mistake started out. He found me on the streets, gave me a place to sleep and a warm dinner. Then he…" Prudence explains softly, her words trailing off.

She doesn't need to say more. What she had said and, more importantly, had not said, is more than enough for him to fill in the blanks and work out two plus two. The solution he reaches makes him want to throttle — preferably eviscerate — the bastard. He suppresses his rage the best he can, watching the girl with an odd mixture of pity and compassion, trying not to show too much of either since neither would do her much good, "Look, Pru, most of us guys are not like that. Yeah, there are some lowlife bastards out there, but most of us are decent and we wouldn't dream of doing something like that. I'm not like that. I want to prove it to you, but I can't unless you let me. It has to go both ways. I wish it didn't, though."

Prudence pulls in tighter on herself, chin on drawn-up knees. She nods after long moments of hesitation. "Okay."

Max swallows back a knot that unexpectedly rises in his throat, releasing a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He could only guess at what it had taken for her to give him that one word. "It's going to be all right," he says, standing at last and walks slowly towards her. He extends his hand. "C'mon."

Prudence places her hand in his and he is taken aback at how tiny and soft it is. It's even smaller than Lucy's. His own hand feels absolutely huge as he closes it gently around hers and pulls her upright. The girl stumbles against him and he catches her, steadying her on her feet. Taking slow, short steps, compromising for her exhaustion and stiffness, he leads her silently to the bathroom. "Go on. You can take a bath if you'd like. I'll wait out here for you. The hot tap works, but it takes a while for the water to warm up," he tells her. "And you should put on something warmer and drier, afterwards."

Prudence nods, shuffling her feet, staring at the floor as though she wishes it could open up and swallow her whole. "I don't have anything else to change into," she says quietly. "I sort of left everything behind when I… split…"

"Don't worry. I'll find you something. And here's a towel," he crosses the room to the closet and pulls down a bleach-stained, puke-green towel that once may or may not have been dark green from the high shelf. "Take as long as you need to. I don't mind waiting…" he stops, hoping she won't take what he had just said as a sexual innuendo. "Shit, I…"

Prudence smiles up at him as she takes the folded terrycloth. It is her first real one and he is taken aback at how cute she is. She's not hot or sexy the way Sadie is, but she is not little-snotty-nosed-kid-sister-adorable either. There is nothing about her that would have grabbed his eye at Princeton, but, here, in a smoky, seedy apartment in the heart of Greenwich Village, surrounded by hippies, he is drawn to her. She reminds him so much of Lucy, but, at the same time, so, so different. He resists the sudden urge to hold her, to replace every one of her bad memories with good ones. To show her that there are good men in the world. Guys who didn't always want an easy time, who could love her for who she is and not give a damn about getting her between their sheets or anything else. He wants to protect her, to look out for her the way he does for Lucy…

"It's okay," Prudence says slowly, stepping backwards into the bathroom, her arms full of towel. "I know what you mean." And she gently shuts the door in his face.

While the pipes clang and whine, protesting the pressure of the water rising through them, Max returns to the room he shares with Jude and rummages through the bureau drawer, searching the tangle of shirts for something that was clean, wasn't ripped, or hadn't been worn ten thousand times. He pulls out a long-sleeve Princeton t-shirt, complete with an obscene orange tiger-face emblazoned on it. He sits back on his heels, staring at it, completely puzzled. Why he has a shirt from Princeton, much less one with a cartoonized tiger on it, he has no fucking idea, especially considering he loathed the place. Why he'd brought it with him in the one suitcase of clothes he'd taken with him to New York, he's even more clueless. When he'd gotten the shirt and why he even bothered keeping it, he's completely lost. Max shrugs, giving it up as a mystery of the universe. In any case, it'll be long enough to be a nightgown on the girl whose head barely came up to the middle of his chest.

A moment later, he raps on the bathroom door. "Pru? Is everything alright? I'm just going to drop this shirt behind the door for you." He opens the door a crack — just wide enough for him to slip his arm and hand inside — and deposits the shirt on the floor. He retreats to the overstuffed chair and sprawls on it, preparing for a long wait if Pru was anything like Lucy taking a shower.

To his surprise, Prudence emerges less than five minutes later, her long hair dripping down her back, water mottling the light gray shirt with darker spots. The sleeves had been rolled up several times to accommodate her hands and the bottom of the shirt reaches the middle of her thighs. There are bruises on her legs too. "Thank you," she says uncomfortably, shifting from one foot to another.

For the first time, with her hair slicked back, Max gets a good look at her face and winces in sympathy, "You've got one hell of a shiner."

Prudence nods, "Like I said, he was a Mistake."

This time, Max hears tears and regret in her voice and he suddenly has a gut feeling that her resolve is not going to last much longer. He didn't grow up as a big brother to two younger sisters for nothing. He goes to her and he isn't surprised to see there are tears glimmering in her dark brown eyes. Instead, she blinks them back and they don't fall.

Max takes a deep breath. There's nothing more he wants to do than kiss her right now, right here, her in a Princeton shirt, him in a bathrobe that permanently smells of cannabis and cigarettes, but he doesn't.

Instead, he studies her bruises, "You've got a cut there," he touches her forehead, tracing the edge of the bruise, with the tip of his finger and she shies away, tensing. "You look better, but that needs to be cleaned," he tells her, hiding his hurt, escorting her back into the bathroom.

Prudence sits pigeon-toed on the closed toilet seat, legs jittering, bouncing on the balls of her feet in nervousness. The constant motion drives him crazy, but he doesn't blame her. "It's okay," he repeats as he switches on the light.

Up close, the bruise surrounding her eye and spreading across her temple are lurid — angry against her smooth skin; a mottled collection of purple and black, red and green, like a plum gone bad. Max flinches inwardly. _Who would strike a girl?_ He thinks, disgusted, as he pulls cotton balls and an opaque brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide from beneath the sink. He twists open the cap of the bottle, stoppering it with a cotton ball and his fingertip, and upends it, soaking the cotton. "This might sting a bit." he pushes the girl's hair back from her temple.

Prudence nods, a fearful wariness still lurking behind her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes again as he touches the cotton to the split skin. Prudence recoils, but doesn't cry out. The cotton comes away tinged pink. Max dampens another cotton ball and swabs at it again. "There," he says as he places a bandaid over the ragged cut. "that should take care of that. Is there anything else?"

Prudence shakes her head negatively. "No. Just bruises. They'll heal," she tells him as he puts away the first aid supplies, tossing the used cotton into the plastic trash bucket.

"Do you think you'll be able to sleep now or would you like some warm milk? I think Sadie has some…" Max trails off, leaning against the sink.

"Milk would be nice," Prudence whispers. "But I don't want to impose. You've done enough already. I'm sorry for the trouble I put you through."

"Nah," Max shakes his head. "It's no big deal. I couldn't sleep anyways. And I was thinking of making some milk for myself. Care to join me?" Max pushes himself from the sink and opens the door, arm gesturing for her to go first, and leading her to the kitchen.

Prudence nods tentatively, a shy smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Yeah. I'd like that."

A moment later, she sits at the kitchen table, graceful as a dancer, feet hooked on the rungs of the chair, pulling the thin quilt around her shoulders. Mutely, she watches Max clatter around the kitchen, slamming cabinets and kicking the refrigerator door shut with his foot. He opens the cardboard milk carton, sniffs it, making a slight face, and dumps the whole thing into a metal saucepan.

"It might be a bit sour, but we're boiling it, so it should be okay..." he tells her, turning on the gas range to its highest setting and setting the pan on it. He pulls himself up onto the counter, sitting comfortably with his back against the cabinets.

Prudence can tell Max's uncomfortable with the sudden silence that hangs between them, his feet kicking the loose cabinet door beneath the countertop, a coiled spring of kinetic energy, so this whole sitting-still-and-waiting-patiently thing is not natural for him, but she can't find a way to break it and she appreciates it when he doesn't try. Even though she swore she wouldn't trust anyone else in this city and that she'd stop being so naïve, she can't help but feel safe with Max. It's a feeling that simultaneously terrifies and comforts her. Unlike the Mistake, she doesn't think Max would hurt her. Nothing about him indicates otherwise. But then again, she was wrong about the Mistake. So she watches him warily.

"Still don't trust me, huh?" Max says, but there is no accusation or malice in the question. Just simple fact and he has effectively placed the ball completely in her court, letting her take the lead, without pressure or censure.

Prudence shakes her head and is saved from answering when she sees white foam spilling over the top of the pan. "The Milk!" she cries, snapping his attention.

"Oh, SHIT!" Max exclaims, sliding off the countertop, and grabbing a tea towel. He wraps it around the metal handle of the saucepan, simultaneously lifting it from the gas range. Milk is bubbling over and hissing as it comes in contact with the hot stovetop. He swivels and holds the pan over the sink until it stops boiling over. "Crap," he mutters, eyeing the thin, brown layer soldered to the bottom and sides of the metal pot as he pours the milk into two waiting mugs.

Prudence stands and goes to him. "What's wrong?" She glances into the mugs. "Oh. It's just a bit burned…" she says offhandedly, even though it's a bit of an understatement. "Don't worry about it. Just add some honey and cinnamon and it'll be fine."

"I like your thinking…" Max grins at her as he rummages through the spice cabinet. He holds up a clear plastic bag of dried leaves. "How would you like some of the best pot you've ever tasted?"

Prudence shakes her head, a bubble of fear rising in her chest. "N-no thanks. I'm good," she swallows. _Oh, No. No. No. No. Not again…_ and begins to back away, vision tunnelling, all her focus on the bag of dried leaves.

Suddenly, she finds herself wrapped up in someone's arms — wiry, strong, safe — and she's not sure how she got there. Her breath hitches and a scream suffocates in some blue terrycloth.

"Shhh. Shhh. It's okay, Pru," she can feel someone stroking her hair rhythmically, holding her tenderly. "It's okay. No one's going to hurt you here."

The words are kind, comforting. Sincere. And they release something inside her.

Then the sobs come, fast and hard, and she has no idea which way is up or down, only aware of the rough fabric in her fists and the solid, lean body holding her on this side of sanity.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Pru. No drugs. I promise. We won't have the pot. It's Sadie's stash anyways…" She can hear Max's voice from somewhere above her, feel his hand rubbing her back. "I'm sorry. I'm not going to hurt you, okay? No drugs. Just honey and cinnamon and milk. Okay?" His voice is a soothing, repetitive babble, full of the promise of security.

She nods against his chest, smelling the stale cigarettes and cannabis in his bathrobe, finding the scent impossibly relaxing despite herself, her tears easing.

Max lets go and steps back, leaving her feeling strangely lonely and bereft. "You're okay," he tells her. "You're okay."

Prudence nods and wipes her face with the rolled-up cuff of the t-shirt. It has the same slightly smoky smell as Max's bathrobe. "Sorry. I don't know what…" She feels her face flush with shame, knowing that she just flew to pieces in front of Max — a perfect stranger — and has no clear idea why or how. But the pot is gone and she can feel exhaustion creeping into her bones.

"No apologies," Max interrupts, holding up his hand. "It's not your fault. I shouldn't have done that. I'm the one who's sorry. Now what do you say we have that milk before it gets cold?"

"All right," she says, sinking down at her seat again, accepting the mug he offers her. She can feel the warmth seeping through the ceramic. She watches Max add honey and cinnamon and sugar to the beverage and do the same to his own drink, making sure there are equal amounts in each, showing her that she does not have to be afraid. That there is no subterfuge. She's embarrassed and humiliated that he has to treat her as though she is a small child, but a glance at his face reveals that he really doesn't mind and that it's okay.

She takes a sip of the scalded milk and, despite the spices, can still taste the burnt sourness behind it, but she doesn't tell Max, even though she knows he tastes it too, judging by the grimace that crosses his face at his first sip. They sit there in silence, drinking the ruined milk, but it is not the awkwardness of before, and Max offers her a smile, which she returns.

Ten minutes later, she rises to her feet, the kitchen chair scraping back from the table with an earsplitting screech. "Thank you," she whispers, staring into the dregs of cinnamon on the bottom of her mug, squeezing her hands more tightly around the ceramic, shy and self-conscious, knowing that she had revealed way more to this stranger than she had ever intended and that he had seen her in all of her messy glory. She wants to tell him that she's in his debt and that she has no idea how she will repay him, for the shirt, for taping her together again in so so many ways, for the milk, for his kindness and decency and sheer patience he had shown her.

She sets the empty mug into the sink, not making eye contact. "I think I'm all set…" she pivots and crosses to the doorway. "So I'm going to go back to bed..."

Max rises, abandoning his mug on the table. "You think you'll be able to sleep? The couch can't be comfortable. I'm still not tired and I don't think I can sleep anyways, you can take my bed—it's a mattress on the floor, really—and I'll take the couch. It's not a problem."

Pru stares at him wide-eyed. "You don't have to do that. The couch is fine… really."

"I'm serious. I insist. Take the mattress. Your back will thank you later. Trust me." Max takes her by the hand and leading her through the living room and into the bedroom to the mattess shoved in the far corner. He lifts the sheet. "Get in."

Pru watches him warily as she slips between the covers and is mildly surprised when he covers her with the sheet and the blanket, tucking her in. He hesitates for a moment then steps back, and it is then she notices the other form in the bed.

She reaches out and grabs Max's ankle before he can depart. "Who…?" She stares wide-eyed at the bed, every instinct telling her that it's a man.

"It's okay, Pru. It's just Jude. You met him earlier tonight, remember? He won't hurt you," Max is calm, steady.

"Can you… D'you mind staying?" The words are a bare whisper and she's disgusted that she has to ask more of him.

"Scoot over."

She does and Max sits on top of the covers, back against the wall, placing himself between her and Jude. "Is that better?" he asks, voice full of concern.

Prudence nods, curling on her side, top of head touching his thigh, fear ebbing.

Max listens to her soft breathing and soon it grows steady, even. He carefully slides to the edge of the mattress, preparing to leave her be, when the shift of his weight makes her stir and she reaches out, grabbing his hand. A squeeze, and he can hear the unspoken plea, _don't go_.

Exhaling, he settles himself and prepares for a long wait.

The next thing he knows, he must've dozed off because Jude's shaking his shoulder. "Shit, Mate…" he stares at him in blinky-eyed surprise. "Is that…? You _landed_ her...?"

"Shhh. "Max instantly holds a finger to his lips. "Shut up," he hisses, keeping his voice low so not to wake Pru. "Yeah. It's Pru. The chick who came in through the bathroom window last night. She had a rough time of it." Max flickers his gaze to her. Still asleep in that little-kitten way, but she no longer seems lost. She has a viselike grip on his hand as she pulls it closer to her chest and he can feel the soft curve of her breast against the back of his hand. _Doesn't she know how much that's a freakin' turn on?_ Max wonders briefly. "So I'd appreciate it if you kept your comments to yourself. And no, nothing happened."

Jude starts slightly, taken aback, and steps back from the mattress, holding hands up in a placid, no-offense gesture. "Whatever, man."

Max fixes him with an ice-cold glare, one that never failed to make his sisters quail in fear. "I'm serious. You say or do anything to her and I swear I'll kill you."

"Okay," Jude exhales. "Don't get your panties in such a twist..." he mutters as he exits the room, seeking sustenance, leaving Max alone with Prudence.

Max turns his head and sees Pru's wide brown eyes staring at him, fear starting to show on her face despite her sleepiness. "You heard?" he whispers.

Pru nods. "Every word." She licks her lips. "You meant it, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Max exhales, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "I did. Still do."

Pru just looks at him, her expression a combination of gratitude and sorrow and something else entirely unidentifiable. Then she pulls herself upright on her knees, wrapping her arms around Max's neck, sliding her hands to the back of his head and kisses him full on the lips.

It is hot. And sensuous.

But empty.

Max has the strangest sensation that the passion is not there. That it was purely obligatory and physical. He doesn't want this—not from her at least.

He reaches up, grasping her small shoulders with hands that suddenly seem larger than they really are, and eases her off him. "Don't do anything you don't want to do," he warns her.

Pru stares at him in stunned shock.

He can tell that this is the first time she's ever been refused. "It's not that I don't want you—I do. I think you're amazing. It's just that it has to go both ways. And if you don't want it, then don't do it," he swallows, takes a breath. "You shouldn't ever have to do something you don't want to do."

Pru blinks at him, a single tear trailing down each of her cheeks. "What do you want from me, then?"

 _Shit,_ Max thinks. _Nothing gets by her_. He meets her challenge unflinchingly. "Trust. Friendship. That's all. And it's okay if it takes the world. I've got time."

Pru nods. "You're okay with time?"

"Yeah. I'm okay with time," Max tells her. "Now go back to sleep. I'll be here."

Pru slips back down onto the mattress, pillowing her head on her arm. With her free hand, she tugs at Max's arm, inviting him to lay down besides her. Max does and is surprised when she rolls over to her other side, pressing her back into his chest, pulling his hand over her to rest between her breasts.

 _Crap. This is going to be a long morning_ , Max tells himself, willing himself not to think about the way her tiny, round butt sits on his lap, pressing against the goods. But moments later, before another thought can properly form, Max is asleep just as the rising sun breaks through the clouds and fills the room with early dawn light.

**Author's Note:**

>  _ **A/N2:**_ I know there is no way in heaven or hell Max would have a Princeton t-shirt lying around, especially in Sadie's flat, and I know the possibility of a 1967 Princeton long-sleeve t-shirt having the tiger mascot on it is slim to none. But, I couldn't resist the adorableness of Prudence wearing a t-shirt that is too big for her that had a mock-ferocious, cartoonish tiger printed on it handed down by none other than Max Carrigan. So… yeah, that's just the way I roll.


End file.
